In The Loneliness Waits
by casus17
Summary: AU, NOT a followon. 'He had ended it, and left his sons in a world they... no just Sam, a world Sam hadn't survived in.' John never taught his sons the hunt, and they grew up to be very different. M for swearing and drugs
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** So, Supernatural has finally returned to our lovely Aussie screens, and honestly I can't see what all the who-hah was about… besides the fact that 'In My Time Of Dying' is FREAKING AWESOME! So, in celebration of this wonderful show finally being back (for us Aussies anyways), I'm posting this AU I wrote ages ago.

It is a mutli-chap fic, but in no way a follow-on to Good Samaritan. Nor is it really a celebratory fiction. See Warning for further details. But anyway, this is In The Loneliness Waits, which may not go over so well. Again, see Warning. But read it, and see what you think.

**Warning:** Major character tweaking, but keep in mind that this _is_ an AU. Very AU. Rating is for excessive swearing and drug abuse. Also, Character Death.

**Disclaimer:** Even if I owned them, they wouldn't be like this.

* * *

**In The Loneliness Waits**

**Chapter 1**

Dean Winchester walked down the pathway to the front of his house, sighing when he saw the all too familiar shadow sitting on his front doorstep. He coughed, and the shadow stood with a start.

"Hi Sam," Dean greeted solemnly, hitching his leather jacket up a bit to keep the cold New York air from his neck. It continued to amaze his fellow doctors that he actually wore a leather jacket. The nurses loved it.

"Hey Dean. How are you?" Sam's voice was hoarse. Dean sighed again.

"What are you doing here, Sam?" He knew he sounded harsh. He was allowed to be though. He didn't see Sam very often now. Only when his brother all-too-frequently needed money. His little brother hadn't even come to Dean's wedding last year.

"I'm behind in my rent. I just need a bit-." The porch light coming on startled him into silence. Dean watched the shadow of his wife turn and leave. She had only ever seen the youngest Winchester in photos, though she did want to meet Sam. She just maintained that it had to be on his terms. Dean hated it.

"I just need a little money, just so I don't get kicked out."

In the new light, Dean studied Sam. He looked worse than he had last time, but he knew Sam didn't expect any sympathy. Far from it. Those haggard, withdrawn eyes expected anger, and an 'I told you so.' Dean wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"What happened to your job?" Dean asked, putting his fists in his pockets. Sam looked at the ground, at the trees lining the porch, at the plants lining the pathway, anywhere but at Dean.

"I lost it. I came in late, and uh, he fired me."

"Why were you late?" Still Sam wouldn't look at him.

"I just was, okay." Sam was angry now. But then again, he became angry easily. "Fuck, Dean, don't lecture me okay. You're not my father."

"Excuse me?" Dean snapped. "I've been your father for as long as you can remember. And it's been legal ever since Dad…" He trailed off. It was still hard to mention, even seven years later. How could you tell your respectable, decent peers that your father had drunkenly killed himself, jumped off a bridge in the middle of winter, crashed through the ice, and drowned in a freezing river of death? How could he have told his colleagues that his father's mutilated body had been found by hikers three months later?

"Don't you dare fucking give the guilt trip. I never asked you to take over Dad's place. Shit Dean."

He ran a trembling hand through his limp, oily hair. Pushing the hair back showed just how bad Sam was now. His face was pale, there were dark lines under his eyes. And his hands trembled. He looked cold, though that might have been the lack of winter wear. Just a hoodie beneath a thinner jacket. An unwelcome thought crossed Dean's mind.

"Are you using again Sam?" The question was direct, pointed. Sam actually looked up, angry. Angry at being asked, or being found out?

"Whatever." He threw up his hands. "I'm sorry I came to ask my big brother for help. Jesus. Every fucking time I see you, you ask me that fucking question. Why? Just to keep me in my place. Well I'm sorry I came and ruined your fucking perfect life. Have fun."

He started to walk away, brushing past Dean, who turned to avoid being bumped in the shoulder. And as Sam walked away, Dean couldn't help but feel the guilt he felt every time he saw Sam walking away. The guilt of not having looked after his baby brother well enough to stop him from going over the edge. He had tried so hard to keep them together when Child Services had threatened to take Sam away. He knew now he should have let them – his brother was… broken. Well, hindsight had perfect vision. He sighed.

"Sam, wait." The youngest Winchester turned, his pale, tired eyes still angry. Dean pulled out his wallet, walking towards his brother.

"How much do you need?" he asked, shaking his head. He walked forward a few steps, towards Sam.

"Just a hundred, to keep a roof over my head."

Dean began pulling the notes out, intending to give Sam a bit extra. "You know, you could always stay here for a while. Get yourself set up, with a job and everything. Sarah wouldn't mind."

Sam suddenly looked up at the second story, just for a moment, just as he was about to accept the money from Dean. He smiled at something, and Dean frowned. He quickly wiped it off his face as Sam looked back at him.

"No, it's all good. I'm fine. I can find another job." He smiled again, and turned to leave. "Thanks Dean."

The question popped out before Dean could stop it. "_Are_ you using again?"

Sam spun around, nostrils flared. "Jesus Christ Dean! You couldn't leave fucking well enough alone." He threw the money down on the ground as lights popped on in the neighbours' houses. Sam continued shouting. "What's it to you, huh? What do you care? Yes, I'm fucking using again. So glad that's the only thing you decided to ask! No, how are you, what's wrong. Blunt and to the fucking point!" He was screaming now and Dean could hear the street's dogs barking. "I haven't spoken to you in two fucking months and that's all you ask. Shit, Dean!"

"That's right, _you_ haven't spoken to _me_ in two months, Sam. And keep your voice down." Dean had crossed his arms as a guard against his own anger. And his guilt.

"The phone goes two ways Dean." At least he wasn't shouting now. "Do you even have my number? I left it on your answering machine. Jesus."

He turned and stormed off, leaving the money in the middle of Dean's front yard.

Dean sighed, wanting to hit something. Himself, mainly. He picked up his money and went inside. Sarah found him sitting at their small, round dining table pushing a glass of scotch around with his fingertip. She was so beautiful, the love of his life, caring, and smart. He wouldn't ever tell her, but she made him feel better. She fought off the loneliness he had felt since his brother had stormed out with the drugs and problems Dean had failed to both see and solve.

"Why does he have to be so-," Dean began. Sarah cut him off.

"Stubborn? Just like you. Jeez, you can tell he's your brother." The edge to her voice was easy to hear.

"What?" Dean asked looking into her beautiful green eyes.

"He is right." She was unafraid to voice her opinion. That was one of the things Dean loved about his wife, even if it did irritate him. Especially when it came to Sam.

"About what?" Dean wanted to know. He pulled her down to sit on his knee.

"You could call him. It's just that you're too stubbornly angry about him not turning up to our wedding."

"Exactly. He didn't turn up to _our_ wedding. Why should I call him?" He could smell her shampoo on her hair.

"Because he is your brother." She said it slow, as if explaining to a five year old, an action she was used to as a pre-school teacher.

Dean sighed. "I know. He just gets me angry and he turns my emotions on me."

"What do you mean?" Sarah frowned.

"He accused me of making him feel guilty." Dean laughed. "That's exactly what I feel every time he shows up looking like the dead walking."

"Because you think you failed him." Sarah finished his thought. Dean nodded. "You tried your best, Dean. Sam has a say in his life too, you know."

Dean shook his head, chuckling. "Every time I think you're on his side, you turn right around and say something like that."

The timer went off on the oven. Sarah stood, but turned to him before going to the kitchen.

"There aren't any sides to this Dean. It isn't a game. It's life, and he's family."

* * *

Sam stopped short as he saw the two men standing outside the door to his apartment. He felt for the knife behind his belt, but then relaxed as he recognised them. Matt and Callum, waiting for him to get back.

"What's up?" he greeted, walking up to them. Callum grinned wildly, already high.

"Brother not so giving tonight Sammy," he said in a voice higher than his usual one. He looked jumpy too. Sam knew the feelings. Of being able to do anything. Of being happy. Fuck, those feelings seemed alien to him at the moment.

"Not as giving as your mum last night," he replied, taking his lock picking tools from his pocket. He had lost his keys. Matt shook his head.

"Damn, Sammy boy, we gotta find a way for you to use those smooth skills for better purposes than breaking into your own apartment."

Sam grinned at him while he turned the handle. Better purposes being breaking, entering, and robbing anything with a lock and valuable items.

His apartment was bare of much. One couch, a wobbly desk against the wall, and an empty kitchen. Two rooms, his bedroom being one, kitchen and lounge being the other. And of course the filthy bathroom that he was afraid to use.

He sat down on the couch. Matt sat next to him while Callum took the floor, his eyes feverish.

"Ready?" Matt asked, like he did every time they used. Sam nodded eagerly, feeling the addiction roar into life.

Matt handed him a needle, which he took gratefully. Leaning forward, he rolled up his sleeve and injected himself with the drug.

Done, he leaned back, smile anticipating already.

"So what did fucker two-shoes have to say?" Matt asked, referring to Dean. Sam shrugged.

"Not much. Asked me if I was using. I told him I was."

"Uh huh."

This was pretty much the extent of their conversation as the three addicts allowed their use to wash over them. Sam could feel his heart beating quickly. He wanted the first stage over. That stage where he mellowed out, and the thoughts began forming too quickly for him to control. And tonight, no doubt, it would be Dean he thought about. Goddamn perfect brother. Made it through college, and studying to be a doctor all on his fucking own. Did he think Sam liked what he had become? An addicted, half-dead, son of a… No he could never say that word, use that term, not without feeling like he had betrayed his mother.

Did Dean think he liked where their relationship was heading? Fuck no. There were times when he wanted nothing more than to pick up the phone and call his brother, just to talk. But it was hard, without feeling pressured and overpowered. His fucking perfect brother, with his perfect life. Had Dean really just given up on him, left him alone with his drugs? For so long Sam had refused to believe so, but maybe his older brother had deserted him. Maybe his older brother had left him alone, even if he hadn't meant it.

And now his wife was pregnant. Not that she knew it yet. Sam wasn't even sure how he knew. He had just seen her staring out the second story window and had known. In eight and a half months, she would have twin girls. He smiled. He would be an uncle. Then his smile dropped. A shitty, fucked up uncle. God, what kind of role model would he be? Would Dean even let him near his little girls? Sam hoped not.

He sagged with relief when the thoughts passed, leaving blissful emptiness. Just how he liked it.

* * *

I just wanted to say that some drug related information in this fic_ may_ be wrong, seeing as I have never used drugs, nor do I have the intention of doing so. Also, please be aware that this fic was never meant to be used to show a point of view on people who do take drugs. Rather, I wanted to show how out of control Sam's life has become. Just wanted everyone to know.

Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

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**Chapter 2**

It was five months later that Sarah turned twenty-five. Dean threw her a big party, hiring out a section of the nearest park for the night. Of course, twenty-five wasn't that big of a deal, except to the person celebrating it, as Dean knew too well. But they had bigger news, the biggest news a married couple could get. And tonight they would share it with all Sarah's family. Dean's heart hurt when he realized he had no family to share the news with. He hadn't seen Sam since that last time his little brother had shown up on his doorstep. Dean had tried to pick up the phone so many times since then, at least every week. Every second day after he had found out he was going to be a father. His fingers just wouldn't touch the buttons.

Dean smiled to himself. He was sitting around a park bench with Sarah's brothers, all older than him. He felt right at home. Then he frowned. How could something feel so right and yet so wrong? Like he was half empty, half lost. These feelings had only come to him recently, and they always made him depressed. He put the smile back on his face though. He loved Sarah, with all his heart. Most of his heart. The smile stayed. It was, and would be, enough.

He watched her, chatting with her father and mother. She definitely took after her father, right down to the fanatical love for sport. She caught him watching her and smiled. A smile, he knew, she kept just for him. He loved her so much. And now she was carrying his children. Could life get better? Yes.

He stood, feeling the sudden need for solitude. He excused himself from the conversation and began walking to the toilets. He wished Sam were here. He wished he knew where Sam was. He wished he hadn't failed his little brother. So many wishes. Did Sam even know he was going to be an uncle in four months? Dean doubted it.

When he got back Sarah practically ran up to him. The bump in her belly was being hidden by a flowing summer dress she had dug out of somewhere. He hugged her tightly, taking in her smell. Not the perfume, or the shampoo, but her. It was intoxicating, like his own little drug, all for him.

"Want to tell them now?" he whispered in her ear. She nodded excitedly.

Taking her hand, they both turned to the gathered family. Sarah's gathered family. He wished Sam were here. He cleared his throat.

"Can everyone listen up for a moment?" he said, almost yelling. Sarah had a big family. And being the youngest, most of her older siblings already had children, who were noisily and ignorantly trying to foil their plans for an announcement. After a moment though everyone quietened down. Sarah's family was anything but rude.

He grinned down at Sarah. "Sarah and I have a little announcement we'd like to make." He couldn't stop his grin from growing. It was unbelievable. "Not that big a deal, really. Just that, well… Sarah's pregnant. We're going to have twins in four months."

The squeals of delight hurt Dean's ears. The kids looked amongst each other, excited about the news of impending cousins. Sarah's mum and her two sisters waltzed up to the youngest member of their family like mother hens, taking her from Dean to sit down and talk in their own little mother's club. Sarah's father and three brothers came up to him, clapping him on the shoulder, and shaking his hand. He couldn't get the grin off his face as he accepted the congratulations of his in-law family. And yet, he remarked to himself later, something was still missing.

* * *

Sam watched the party from a distance. He could feel tears coming to his eyes when Dean told Sarah's family about the pregnancy. He almost wished he could be a part of it. But he couldn't. He was going crazy after all. Seeing things in his head.

He turned and left, feeling more alienated from the world than he ever had before. Before, it had just been his addiction that kept him from the normality he so craved. Now, it was hallucinations. And that growing feeling that he was half empty, or half lost, or something. He was going crazy.

But hallucinations could be a sure sign of too much drug use. It could even be just a side effect of the drugs, visions while he was high. He had only ever seen the woman screaming from her bedroom window while under the influence of whatever Matt had brought in his needle. The same went with those three deaths he had seen a few weeks ago, the gassing, the window smashing and the stabbing. They had to be a result of the drugs. He didn't know what was in them; he had been too broke to buy his own and he needed something to stop the guilt he was always under. Something to hide the loneliness.

He was so lost wallowing in self-pity that he didn't realize where his feet were taking him until it was too late. When finally he stopped, a sub-conscious effort of pausing his feet, he looked up. And glared at the building looming overhead.

It was a deserted house, on the outskirts of town. He hadn't realized he had walked so far. Or to this spot. He hated this house. So many bad memories.

After his mother had died in the freak fire that had destroyed their Kansas home, John Winchester had been unable to live in the same state as that of his previous life, let alone the same house. Though Sam couldn't remember it, they had been moved out here six months after his mother's death. To this town, this street, this house. So he and Dean had lived here, while every so often – or so it appeared in the young man's memories – their father would visit, bearing new scars from whatever bar brawl he had been in during the latest binge drinking episode. Those memories weren't good. They were as far from good as it was possible to get. When John Winchester had been home… he had never hit Sam or Dean, but he had stayed in his room, uncaring, unspeaking, barely breathing as far as Sam was aware. It was the reason he had been almost relieved when his father had disappeared, only to be found dead a few months later.

No one lived in this house anymore. Not legally anyway. Maybe it had the occasional squatter. But Sam knew all too well that there was something about the house that scared people, gave them shivers in their spine, or made them feel like they were being watched. He knew all too well. It was why Dean had moved them out after he had gained guardianship over his younger brother.

Everything was still in there. Or everything that hadn't been carted away by thieves. He knew their memories were. And that was what watched people. He knew because it had been what had watched him. Memories of a life unlived, pressing down on him and making it difficult to breathe.

He continued to glare up at the house that had caused him so much pain for a few minutes. Then he swooped on a bottle on the ground and threw it at the house. He hated that fucking building. He screamed it out loud, and he screamed it in his head. That was where all his troubles had begun, as far as he knew. And it was so easy to blame. A monument to the start of his lifetime of fuck-ups.

He was still screaming it inside his head when he got back home at dawn. No, not home, just to his apartment. How could this dump be home? Had he ever had one?

Feeling bitter, and frustrated, and angry, like he was every time he came back from seeing that house, that building where his meaningless life had begun, he screamed incoherently and brought his fists as hard as he could down on the kitchen bench. A sharp pain, not the dull one he was expecting, broke out in his hand, and he looked at the injured limb, surprised to see a needle sticking out of the side of it. He chuckled. So Matt had been here last night. And had been using, by the looks of it.

Not thinking, Sam stumbled over to his quickly dwindling stock of drugs. Taking the needle that had been stuck in his hand, he filled it with the clear liquid from a bottle. He didn't care what was in it, as long as it took away his pain. He sighed in relief as he felt it coursing through his veins.

He stumbled back to the couch, feeling the drugs work their wonder on him. To his utter and complete relief he fell unconscious straight away. The relief soon passed as he began watching people, or a person, die again and again, pinned to a ceiling by an unknown force. Again.

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Thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

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**Chapter 3**

Three and a half months later Dean ran down the hall, white doctor's coat trailing behind him. His grin was fixed in place, and his heart beat fast with anticipation. It was time. Today, he was becoming a father. He couldn't wait.

He ran into the room where Sarah lay on a hospital bed, already panting. He knew she had been brought in several hours ago, but he hadn't managed to get away before half an hour ago.

Now, he ran to her side, where he took her hand. Her mother was already there, and her oldest sister, lending their own support. Dean gave them thankful smiles before turning his complete attention to his labouring wife.

Three hours later Dean could feel himself crying with joy. He held the oldest twin in his arms. She was so tiny, so small and delicate. He barely remembered Sam being born, though he had been there. But this little one was much smaller than her uncle.

"Mary," he breathed over her, a baptism of love on her tiny forehead. Oh, she was so beautiful. Just like her namesake. Or what Dean could remember of his mother. This little one though… she was so tiny, and all his to hold, to care for, to love and protect, for all his life.

As he watched over his little ones, his Mary and Jessica, he swore to himself. They would lead full lives, and he would care for them like he had never cared for anyone before. Like he should have cared for Sam. But at nineteen he had been too young to be a father. Now, twenty-seven, he was a father, truly a dad, and he would be damned if he failed again.

"Mary and Jess." It sounded so right to breath, and he leaned over their heads in turn, kissing their forehead as a symbolic ending to their entrance into the world.

* * *

Sam dropped to his knees, put his head in his hands and cried, feeling the heat of the burning house on the back of his hands. He was alone. Again. And now, he wanted nothing more than to be with someone. Anyone. No, not anyone. Dean. He wanted Dean to hold him, like he had just over eight years ago when their dad's body had been found. He wanted to be a kid again, to restart this life so he wouldn't fuck it up again. What had gone so wrong? How had his life ended up like this? Shitty, useless, fucked. Alone.

He had needed answers. He still needed answers. That was why he had gone back to _that _house. At least, that was what he told himself. In reality, he had gone to destroy something, needing a way to vent his fear and bitterness at his lot in life. And then he had found it, while ripping strange posters of his father's wall. A journal, bound in leather and still smelling of the father Sam had never loved, or known, really.

The past few hours were a blur in his mind, though still too clear for his liking. He remembered walking into the medical clinic, an hour ago, feeling faint, but happy for his brother, the new dad. It had been light then, and for a few hours of daylight he had sat in the hallways of Dean's workplace and wished. Wished he could have had the guts to go and see his brother. To go and see his nieces. Oh, his nieces. Mary and Jessica. He had heard Dean say it out loud in the room where his family, his new family, waited for its new arrivals. Mary and Jessica. And he had just had to leave. He had an appointment anyway. That's what he told himself.

Picking up that leather-bound journal, too, was a blur in his memory, although he would remember its words forever. _I'm going to end it._

That, though, had been after he had walked into the centre, feeling a little sick, but better than he had been, and happy. So happy, despite his own remorse. All that had changed within twenty minutes.

Sam sat still on his knees, crying and taking a deep, shuddering breath as he remembered. The clinic, and then going back to the house he had sworn to never go back to. He knew exactly how well he could keep promises though. He had promised Dean he would try in school, before dropping out. He had promised to get clean, to stop using drugs, and now, because of one fucking dirty needle…

He had only gone in to find out the results of a blood test he had given the week before. Just one measly, fucking blood test. He had known straight away, when he had received the details, that he would rather not have known. Would have preferred to remain blissfully unaware until his painful, lonely death somewhere in the streets.

The doctor had sat him down, her face grim. And sad. Pitying. He had almost screamed at her then. He was fucking sick of that emotion. He got it from everyone. No, not everyone. Just Dean. He got it from Dean, and it made him feel like shit.

He started weeping again as he replayed the conversation over in his head. He couldn't help himself. He just had to punish his mind, flay his soul. It was half the reason he had come back to the terrible past, just so he could assail his mind with more pain. He had walked in the darkness, the electricity long gone, lost in a storm and never replaced. The clinic, by contrast, had been brightly lit, compensating for the futility Sam felt from it.

"_Have a seat, Sam." The doctor in the clinic had motioned to the hard, plastic chair in front of her small desk in the cubicle. _

Even it had looked dirty. But she had been young, and pretty, and so full of grief at the news she was about to impart that it had to have been fake.

"_I'm afraid the news isn't good, Sam." _Why had she kept on using his name? He had known she was talking to him. The centre was otherwise empty of recipients of attention. Just doctors looking to settle a score with a god he no longer believed in.

The doctor had looked at him, tears in her eyes. What right had she to cry? None, it wasn't her life her news was going to affect. Later, she could still return to her cosy, warm home, snuggle up with those she loved and know her world was perfect.

"_I'm afraid you have acute hepatitis c, Sam."_

It had hit him hard, and he had sat there, stunned beyond words. His mind had been screaming, screaming that it wasn't fair, not when his brother was experiencing so much happiness. Screaming that he deserved another chance, even though he knew, really, that he had used up all his chances long ago. And it was all his fault. His fucking fault. Dean had warned him, warned him about using, and injecting. Again, he had fucked up his already fucked up life. Was that all he existed to do? Make stupid mistakes.

Stupid mistakes like going back to that house. But he had wanted answers, and he had wanted to scream at the memory of his father, scream that it had been all John's fault for not loving him, and for being weak. Sam knew he was just like his father, had inherited every dark fucking gene from that memory of a shadow. His father had been weak, unloving. Uncaring and unspeaking. And so was he.

So he had gone, and he had found that journal, that account of his father's obvious madness. Except for one thing… but maybe his insanity could be contributed to his illness.

The young, pretty, false doctor had quickly lost that grief and had just as quickly got down to business.

"_There's a few options, Sam. If we start treatment straight away-."_

"_NO."_

Treatment. It had been the first word he had understood since hepatitis. But it had turned his heart cold, icy, like the river his dad had drowned drunkenly in. And he had suddenly known. This was his way out. Finally, he could remove himself from everyone's existence. He was alone anyway, why not be alone and unaware. Sure, Dean might be sad, for a while. But he would get over it, and he could live with his family, in peace. So he had interrupted her, thinking it was for the best.

"_NO."_

"_Sam, I don't think you understand. You have acute hepatitis c. And your case seems particularly aggressive."_

Obviously she hadn't thought it had hit him hard enough the first time. He had stood, angry.

"_I said no. I'm not having treatment."_

"_You will die without it, Sam"_

She had used his name in every sentence, or so it felt. He had turned to her, quivering.

"_I don't fucking care. You have no right to tell me what to do."_

And he had walked out of there, feeling powerful, as if, by taking control of his death, he had finally taken control of his life. The feeling hadn't lasted long. In fact it faded as he sat in the darkness, and later the rain, though it had remained with him while he used an old oil lamp to read his father's journal. Reading that account… Sam had never felt anything until he had slammed the book shut and then burned it, along with the rest of the house. A fitting end, if his dad was to be believed. A fitting end to Winchester madness, which had begun with fire. So he sat there, remembering with horror, the words in his father's handwriting, while he watched the house burn.

The first page, smudged by tears…_ My life is gone… Mary is dead… murdered. I think. It is so strange, so unbelievable. I don't know whether to believe it, but if I can't trust my own mind, my own eyes, how can I trust anything? But Mary… oh my God, she was on Sammy's ceiling, a gash in her stomach… And then she… erupted. Into fire. Thank the lord my boys are safe, but if my eyes did not deceive me… there are terrible things in this world…_

He had had to sit down after that. It had been far too much for him to handle. He would have thought his father crazy. Well, he did. Except that he had hallucinations, dreams of it. Of women, on the ceiling, burning to death with horrified screams on their faces.

A few pages after that, and his whole opinion of his father had changed. He had been sympathetic. Now, he hated the bastard.

_I met someone today. A man, a man named Pastor Jim… he told me horrible things. My worst nightmares walk the Earth. He says he can help me get revenge for Mary's murder. I believe him. I'm going to accept his help. It's all I can think about. Revenge._

He hated his father. Never had he felt such strong feelings for the man, but it was all loathing. The man had cared more about revenge than his sons. In the end it had destroyed him, as shown by yet another page of smudged ink and spilled secrets. And spilled insanity.

_I can't handle this anymore. I used to think that… I don't even remember anymore. I just know that I can't stay here. I can't watch my boys grow up into Mary, I can't watch them as she watches me with their eyes. I don't know them, it won't matter. Revenge is all I have cared about for the last fourteen years, and now… I don't care. I'm going to end it. _

And he had, the fucking weak, selfish bastard. Sam snarled silently as he watched the house burn to the ground. He had ended it, and left his sons in a world they… no, just Sam, a world Sam hadn't survived in.

It was only now that realized how alone he actually was. So he sat there, crying, wishing he could restart life, or at least have the guts to end it now. But he was weak, useless, and alone. Most of all, he was alone. He sobbed, alone, in the dark and the rain.

Back at his apartment, his phone rang. He would never know it, because he had no answering machine, but it was his brother, ringing to tell him he was an uncle. It was Dean, prepared to give him that hug and make him feel not so alone for a moment. But Sam wasn't home. He didn't have a home.

* * *

Another note. I wrote this at a time when my ideas on John were not all that charitable. In fact, I hated the man. Of course, that's changed now.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Not mine

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Sam got into the car, rubbing his hands together. He ignored the smoke of Shawn's cigarette in the backseat, and turned to Matt, feeling more energetic than he had in the six months since he had received his life sentence.

"So are we doing this or what?" he asked Matt. The thin man nodded, turning on the car and driving towards the outskirts.

"So where we going tonight?" Shawn asked.

"It's a pawn shop," Matt answered. "It's over in the outskirts, so it's an easy target. I was in there yesterday, and it has some fucking good stuff."

"You were in there?" Sam snapped. Honestly, sometimes he didn't think these guys thought at all.

"Aw, fuck Sammy. Stop stressing. Jesus, I was careful," Matt defended himself. "And anyway, they wouldn't think someone would be stupid enough to do that."

Sam shook his head at the logic. Bullshit logic, he thought.

"So what do we get out of this?" Callum wanted to know. They didn't rob stores for themselves, but for another person. Sam questioned it sometimes, but it meant he survived the streets. After all, once you were in…

"Dylan's giving us credit for, ah, future purchases. Whenever we want."

"How much, Matt?" Sam asked. He knew they were being cheated, but wasn't going to say anything. He had had too many run-ins with Dylan to argue.

The driver shrugged. "'Pends on how much we get."

Sam shook his head before he could stop himself. It didn't matter. The other men in the car weren't watching him.

Ten minutes later Matt pulled up outside a building a few blocks down from the targeted pawnshop. They all sat in the smoke filled car, watching for anything. Sam could feel his heart beating faster. He frowned. That was odd. He had burgled shops and houses before, with the three men with him, and by himself. He was an old hand at this. So why was he nervous? Was it even nerves?

"I don't think we should do this," he said as calmly as he could. He hadn't even really meant to say it, but once he had, he knew he was right. If they did this something bad would happen.

"Getting cold feet, Sammy?" Callum sneered from the back seat.

"No. But I have a bad feeling about this."

"Come on Sammy," Matt encouraged. "We've never done bad before. And anyway, this could set us up for the next coupla months. And the shop's empty, no alarm. I told you, I checked this out."

Sam struggled with his feelings. That warning came out on top. "I don't think we should do this," he repeated.

"Sammy's fucking scared," Callum dug in an amazed voice. "Shit, I never thought I'd see the day."

"Shut the fuck up Callum," Sam spat, still looking at the shop. He growled. "Whatever." He opened the car door. "Are we fucking doing this or what?"

The other three followed him, slamming the car doors. They walked down the street, shoulders hunched against the cold, and against so-called cold feet.

The pawnshop came up quicker than Sam wanted. He would have preferred to be walking forever. Better that then whatever was waiting for them in there. That something was waiting he was sure.

The others watched furtively for any motion while Sam picked the locks of the bars guarding the door. Pretty soon they were standing in the shop, balaclavas over their heads to hide their identities from the camera. Whether it was real or not was up for question, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

The other three started packing things into small sacks. Sam walked around for a bit, trying to find things of value. He walked to the back of the store, where necklaces lay in a glass case.

He smiled. This would get him the most credit. He was running low. He lifted his torch to smash the glass.

It was only by chance that Sam looked up, staring into the backroom. Through a window he could see a man tied to a chair, gagged and blindfolded.

"Jesus!"

Matt was suddenly by his side. "Holy Fuck!" he swore. Sam didn't say anything more, just ran around the counter and through the door. Callum stopped him with a vice grip on his upper arm.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he spat. Sam shrugged out his grasp and ran the rest of the distance.

He came to a stop before the chair and began tearing at the ropes holding the man to the chair.

"That's the owner of this place." Sam jumped as Matt appeared behind him. Sam just glanced at him.

"It doesn't matter, he's still tied to a chair." He pulled the gag down and pushed the blindfold up, glad he had left his balaclava on.

The shop owner's eyes widened. "Behind you!" he managed to warn hoarsely. Two thuds made Sam and Matt turn. They turned just in time to see Callum and Shawn fall. And a tall man stood in the middle of the shop, gun in each hand.

Sam felt his stomach drop. Beside him Matt was cursing under his breath. The tall man began walking forward, cocking each of his guns.

"Move," the man hissed. Sam wouldn't, and Matt couldn't. Sam knew it just by seeing his friend's knees shaking out of the corner of his eyes.

"Move, children!" This time it was spat.

"Why?" Sam asked, his voice trembling. The man stopped at the door, raising one of his guns. Not at them, but at the man in the chair.

"You wouldn't understand, boy. But you'll regret it if you don't."

"I'm not moving." Sam couldn't believe how calm he felt. But he didn't get any… bad vibes off the man holding the gun. It was as if he knew, instinctively, that the guy wouldn't shoot him.

The man hissed. "You have no idea what you're protecting there, son."

Something inside Sam snapped. "I'm not your son!" he shouted vehemently. He wasn't anyone's son, and never had been. Even Matt looked surprised at his outburst though. The man lowered his guns, gaping.

Then the bound man, the shop owner, gave a short laugh. Barely a second later Sam fell, just registering the fact that he had been stabbed before he hit the ground. He grunted, feeling blood spill between his fingers. He stared at the wound in horror and fixation. So much blood. Cursed blood. Tainted blood.

He looked up. The shop owner, somehow out of the last of his ropes, held a terrified Matt, a knife at Sam's friend's throat. Conversation hit his ears.

"…tables turn, Pastor." The man laughed hard. Matt flinched. And began shaking. The man laughed harder. "Oh, he's scared. Look at him shake. You'd think a thief would have more guts. Should we take a look at his guts?"

"Let him go," the man, Pastor, ordered. How could he order when Matt was in the grip of a madman?

"Don't think so," the shop owner retorted. "He broke into my shop. That wasn't very nice of him, was it? Maybe I'll just let my demons eat him."

Demons. Sam grunted, half from shock, half from pain. Demons. This man was mad. As mad as his father, Sam conceded grudgingly. He could feel the blood slowing. He wasn't dying, he realized. He wondered if that was good or bad.

"Actually, you know what. My demons aren't very hungry. So, here you go."

Sam thought he screamed as he watched the knife flick easily through Matt's throat. Then the man, the shop owner, was shoving a blood-drenched friend at Pastor, who dodged, and ran after the fleeing shop owner.

Sam struggled up somehow. The pawnshop was noiseless. Eerie. Crying out from the pain, he stumbled from the store.

He just made it to the car when cop cars went speeding past. He was wishing they had parked around the corner, instead of in view of the shop. He couldn't start the car this close to the cops. He began walking. Stumbling. Only one person could help him.

* * *

Dean saw the shadow on the steps and sighed with relief. He had been getting worried about his brother. Over a year without contact was unusual, and wrong. He knew it, but, then, he had tried. Once. He ignored that voice that told him he should have tried harder and coughed.

Nothing happened. The figure didn't jump up, didn't even move. It gave a little noise, like a verbal shudder.

"Sam?" Dean walked forward, worried. His brother always stood when he coughed. It was a part of the normal ritual.

But as Dean walked closer, he realized this wasn't normal. It was Sam, for sure, but he was pale, and sweaty, and shaky.

The porch light turned on, and Dean looked up to see Sarah's shadow move away from the window. When he looked back, Sam was gazing blankly up at him.

"Dean?" Sam asked hoarsely. He seemed to become a little uncomfortable, and then looked around a bit dazedly. "Uh, sorry. I'm bleeding all over your porch."

Dean felt himself go white, and he rushed to his knees in front of Sam. "What, Sam?"

And then Sam lifted his hand so Dean could see the hole in his side. The still bleeding hole in his side.

"Jesus, Sam!" He took his jacket off and placed it against the wound. "What the hell have you been doing?"

He started to get his phone out to dial 911. Sam's bloody hand pushed the phone down weakly.

"No hospital," he ordered. Dean looked up at him.

"Sam, you're bleeding badly, from a… is this a knife wound?" The question was a little angry.

"I didn't mean it," Sam defended reproachfully. "Please, no hospital. Can't you just sew me up, or sumfin?"

He was starting to wobble where he sat. Dean put the phone away, groaning. "Whatever Sammy, if that's what you want."

Sam actually chuckled as Dean helped him to his feet. "What the hell are you laughing at? Sarah, can you open the door?" He yelled that last: his hands were full with his little brother.

"Nuffin. Just, you ain't called me 'Sammy' for a long time. You've always been angry cause I fucked up my life."

Sarah opened the door, a questioning look on her face. It soon changed to horrified.

"Oh my god," she muttered as she stepped to the side. Sam was dragged across the threshold, entering Dean's home for the first time. Entering Dean's world for the first time.

"I wasn't angry, Sam. Sammy," he corrected as he lay his little brother down on the guest bed. Sam seemed to get angry at that, and tried to push himself up.

"Dean, I'm bleeding," he stated the obvious.

"I hadn't noticed," Dean said dryly. He turned to Sarah. "Can you grab me some towels, and the first aid kit?"

Sarah left, nodding, and Dean kept the pressure up with his now ruined jacket. He was glad he had switched from leather.

"Whoa, Sam," he said loudly when he saw his brother going to sleep. "Not yet, buddy. Tell me what happened."

Sam responded to the order, but kept his eyes closed. "I swear, I didn't mean it. I mean, I didn't even want to break into the goddamn store. I told them… I told Callum. Now Matt's dead, and they didn't listen. S'not my fault."

He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself. But Dean's heart had gone cold. Sam had been reduced to theft? Oh god, how had he let it go this far? Why hadn't he picked up the phone again? Sam hadn't finished.

"Hadn't even started when I saw the man tied up in the back. Wanted ta help him, and he threw it in my face, the fucking bastard. He was mad like Dad too. Fucking madmen." He began laughing but Dean saw Sarah flinch as she re-entered the room. She hated swearing. "There was this other guy there too, and he looked like he was gonna shoot the guy tied up. Wanted ta stop 'im, but I shoulda been helping him. Now Matt's dead, cause I wouldn't move."

Dean watched the tears come from his tightly squeezed eyes, and he wondered who Matt was. Had been.

"This is going to hurt, Sam," Dean interrupted the dialogue. Sam just nodded, taking a deep breath. Still, Dean was glad when Sam fell unconscious. Sam wasn't, screaming inside his head as a woman burned above his head like she had every night since he had burned his father's last stronghold on this realm.

* * *

Hey, thanks for reading. Only two chapters and the epilogue left.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

When Sam woke he felt like his side was about to fall off. But he didn't even notice. He woke sweating and shaking. This dream, this sleeping hallucination had been so vivid, and terrible. He could still feel the heat scorching his face, the feel of blood on his forehead. He sat up.

He went cold. Where was he? Why wasn't he in his apartment? Wait, what had happened? The memory of the failed robbery came back quick enough, and Sam forced back the tears for his fallen friend. Matt would have just called him a pussy.

He took a deep breath. So this was Dean's house. Still sitting in bed, he looked around. It was nice. For a bare instant Sam hated it. It was warm, and comforting, and loving. None of which he found in his apartment. But then he mellowed out and let it touch him.

It was daytime, judging by the sun streaming in through the window to his right. Of what day though? His sleep had been restless and full of a woman burning on his ceiling, but it had felt long.

He began to get out of bed, but stopped when he realized he only had boxers on. As if on cue Dean walked in through the door.

"Oh, thank god you're awake." He shut the door behind him, smiling with real relief. Sam smiled back, a little unsure.

"How long was I out?" he asked, glancing around.

"For the night. But you slept so deeply."

Sam felt like gagging. Deeply. It didn't feel like it. He looked down so Dean would avoid seeing the emotions and fear of going crazy on his face. He saw the bandage on his side. He touched it gently.

"Thanks," he said softly. "And thanks for not taking me to a hospital." He didn't want to be told again that he had…

Dean frowned. "Why didn't you call me? I mean, if you were having such trouble that you needed to rob a store for money, you really should have called. I would have helped."

Sam sighed, after catching on that that was the reason Dean thought he hadn't wanted to go to hospital. "I know Dean. But you haven't seen me for over a year. We haven't spoken since the last time I turned up on your doorstep."

"I called, once. You weren't home." Suddenly his face cracked in a grin. "Oh my god, Sammy. You don't know yet but-." Sam cut him off, smiling.

"I know. You had twin girls. Mary and Jessica."

Dean frowned. "How do you know?" It was a little dark, suspicious. Sam shrugged sheepishly.

"I was there, the night they were born. Outside, but…" He sighed. "I wanted to be there, just not _there_. I was going through some pretty rough shit at the time." Still was. "I didn't want your girls to have an uncle like that."

Dean nodded, understanding. Then the smile came back slowly. "Want to see them? Your nieces, I mean."

Sam wasn't sure. But he nodded. Dean stood and chucked him a pair of pants and a t-shirt. Old clothes, and the pants were a little short, but Sam pulled them on, uncaring.

The nursery seemed familiar in a weird way. Like deja vu. Sam shrugged it off and walked over to the nearest crib. He couldn't help but smile down at the little baby girl in the middle, sleeping soundly.

"This is Mary," Dean whispered. "For Mum. And this is Jess. That's Sarah's mum's middle name."

From the second crib Sam sighed. But it was happy. "They're beautiful Dean."

He looked up at his big brother. "Can I meet Sarah?" he asked cautiously.

"Sure you can," a voice from the doorway acknowledged. Sam turned, a little nervous. When he saw her all nervousness disappeared. He stood there stunned. She was beautiful, kind-looking, confident everything his brother deserved. But that wasn't what stunned him. He knew her. Not just from the times Sam had seen her shadow, or watched from afar as she married his brother, or announced her children. But from when he had watched her, over and over again, pinned to his ceiling, bleeding, and bursting into flames. The woman in his dreams, come real.

"Oh god."

His face went pale; his legs wouldn't hold him up anymore, and Dean had to catch him. Sarah flinched, as if to catch him herself, but she was too far away and realized it. "No, no, no, please, it can't be. That's not fair."

He didn't realize what he was saying. Dean gave his wife an apologetic look and helped his brother to his feet. Together they stumbled down the stairs. Dean was becoming angrier and angrier the further from the nursery they went.

"What the hell was that?" he asked as he dumped Sam on the guest bed. Sam was shaking like mad. He didn't seem to hear.

"You looked like your worst nightmare had come true. You can't treat my wife life that. God, you didn't even come to our wedding, you can't judge her!" He tried hard to refrain from shouting.

Sam shook harder. He wanted to tell Dean that it had, that his worst nightmare was coming true. But what if it were just coincidence? What if he was just crazy? And would Dean believe him if he told him his wife was going to die painfully above his head, pinned to the ceiling by something that shouldn't exist?

"What the hell is your problem, Sam?" It was back to that. Sam, not Sammy.

He had to give Dean something, he realized. He chose the lesser of two evils. He still had a hard time getting it out.

"It was just a turn. I'll be right in a minute." And he would be, once he got away. For some irrational reason, he believed if he wasn't here than his dream wouldn't come true.

"A turn? What are you talking about?" Dean was still angry.

"Dean, I… Christ. Dean, I've got hepatitis." There he had said it. And Dean had taken it as well as he had.

"What?" The older Winchester was pale. Sam held back the tears.

"Don't make me say it again."

"Jesus Sam! When were you going to tell me?"

Sam erupted. "That's it? When was _I_ going to tell _you_? That's what it's been like all my life. You just have to be in control. How about, I dunno, fucking… asking if I'm okay, if I care, how long I've had it, or even how long I've got! Jesus, Dean. I tell you I'm gonna DIE and you still fucking…. Shit Dean!"

Dean went still. And then he turned and left the room. Sam took the chance. When Dean returned, the younger Winchester was gone, and that feeling of being alone struck him hard.

* * *

The phone rang constantly, but Sam ignored it with the same intensity that he had prayed it ring over the past weeks, ever since he had found out he was going to die. He welcomed the loneliness with a cold, dying heart.

* * *

Dean tried ringing constantly, hoping Sam would pick up. He had made a terrible mistake. He had left his brother alone in the very instant Sam had needed him to be there. His brother had left him alone, and he never realized more that this life wasn't meant to be, that he and Sam weren't meant to be alone.

* * *

Sam slept for most of two days, because he couldn't get true rest. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her, burning and shrieking. Every second he was awake, he wondered why it felt so familiar, to be watching a woman burn above his head. He began thinking that maybe his dad hadn't been so crazy. Maybe he was cursed, and had brought that curse down on his family. He no longer blamed John for everything. It was him. He tainted everything. And now he dreamt of Dean's wife dying in a burst of fire. But maybe, just maybe, he could help her. He just had to be alone until the time was right. It wasn't that big of a change. Except now he accepted it; in fact he prayed that he wouldn't hurt anyone else. And so he kept on ignoring the phone.

* * *

Dean watched his girls, using the cordless phone to make his calls to Sam. Calls that were never answered. He loved them so much. Mary, and Jess, and Sarah. His three girls, three Winchester girls, just like nine years ago there had been three Winchester boys. In nine years, how many boys would be left? One? None? His dad, and Sam would be gone, and he would be alone. Why had he wasted so much time? He should have helped Sam, but he had been so engrossed in his perfect life. Why was his so goddamn perfect when Sam's was filled with misery and loneliness, loneliness Dean thanked God he had never had to feel? Sure, he felt lonely at times, but he had Sarah, and family, and something to fill the void. And so he prayed for Sam to pick up the phone.

* * *

Prayers went unanswered.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Dean walked down the pathway to his house, still desperately trying to reach Sam, a week after the kid had disappeared. He stopped before going inside, trying a last time on his cell phone. He let it ring for a few minutes, longer than he probably should have. He didn't care. There was no answer.

He felt like hitting something. Sam was being stubborn. Just like him, Sarah would have noted with a slight smile. Dean didn't smile. He needed to talk to Sam. He felt so bad. He didn't even know where Sam lived, because he had been wrapped up in his life. A life Sam should have shared. It wasn't fair.

Pocketing his phone, he went inside.

* * *

Sam didn't know why he was sitting outside Dean's house, watching it silently. Well he did. Those dreams. They had become more intense, to the point where he woke screaming. And then tonight he had felt an incredible urge to come visit Dean. He had obliged it. His 'turns' had been becoming worse.

Only, when he had turned up, he had just stood across the street, under a tree, watching. He still wanted to be alone, to share his curse with himself. He hoped the distance would be enough. He hoped that from here, he could save her in time. He didn't want Dean to go through the same pain that John had. The curse didn't have to carry on.

He hid a little when he saw Dean's car pull up outside the house, but had come out when Dean had walked up the pathway. When he had stopped, Sam knew he was calling his apartment.

He didn't care. He needed to be here. Tonight. It didn't mean he had to speak to Dean. Didn't mean he had to share his curse.

He watched Dean go in and sighed. He leaned against the tree, waiting. For what, he wasn't sure, just that it was important.

He didn't see the tall man watching him from the shadows.

* * *

"Sarah?" Dean called out, dumping his keys on the table in the entrance. The house was strangely silent. "You here, honey?"

He took off his coat and hung it on the rack beside the table. The girls weren't even crying. Not that he would have expected that. They were strangely good.

Smiling somewhat sadly, he started walking up the stairs to the nursery. If she were home, which she should be, Sarah would be there. She had probably fallen asleep watching the girls.

Dean smiled at that thought and opened the door to the nursery. The smile quickly disappeared as he saw a dark figure standing over Mary's crib. It turned to him, and he gasped. Its eyes were yellow. Unnatural. Supernatural.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, looking around for Sarah. He could see Mary in her crib, and Jess. But where was Sarah.

Almost as if it could read his mind, the figure looked upwards. Dean followed its gaze, a feeling of deja vu coming over him.

He screamed as he watched his wife burst into flames where she lay pinned to the ceiling. The roar of the flames though, pushed him back, away from the door. That same door slammed in his face as he fell to the ground.

* * *

Sam began running. Nothing had happened, but he knew something was about to happen, he just wasn't sure what. All he knew was that he had to stop it, and to do that he had to be in that house.

He bounded through the unlocked front door as he heard a scream. Dean's scream. Please, let his brother be all right.

He took the stairs two at a time. There was Dean, lying on the floor, still screaming. The nursery door was shut tight, but a fiery redness could be seen around the edges.

He ran forward to Dean, pulling him back. Dean didn't even seem to realize.

"Sorry Dean," he muttered in his brother's ear. The guilt bore down on him. He could have stopped this. Should have. And he hadn't. Why hadn't he known? Well, he had to do something now. He couldn't let Dean become John, engulfed in loneliness and revenge and madness.

He ran at the door, ignoring the heat of the handle as he opened it. The whoosh of air as the door opened singed his face, but he walked in. The door closed behind him.

Almost instantly the fire died down, but he was too late. The room was black, the cribs beyond recognition. As were the bodies of his beautiful, little nieces.

"Oh God," he sobbed, falling to his knees. The figure, which he hadn't seen before, whipped around. An air of recognition filled the room.

"Well. Hello again."

* * *

Dean felt someone pull him back, and then whisper something in his ear. Funny, but it felt like Sam. Only it couldn't be, because Sam was mad at him, and was staying away, letting himself die alone.

Then that someone ran at the nursery door, outlined by fire. And the second before the door shut behind him, Dean realized it _was_ Sam.

"NO!" he screamed, getting up and lunging at the door the instant the fire in the room went out. He couldn't lose his brother, not when they still had things to talk about. Voids to fill.

"Sam, no! Don't do this." His voice was screeched, desperate. "No, this isn't fair! No!"

He was crying now, almost sobbing, an act he hadn't done since he had sobbed alone in his closet the day the news came that his father's unrecognisable body had been found.

"Sam, come back! Please, let them be all right!" They had to be all right. They couldn't leave him alone. He couldn't lose everything today, tonight, in a mere five minutes. Five minutes wasn't long to lose your entire family. Five lifetimes wasn't long enough to lose your entire family.

Suddenly there was a man standing next to him, pounding on the door as well. That he was pounding on the door Dean only just realized. He didn't care who the stranger was, as long as he let him keep his family. He wasn't strong enough to live without them.

He yelled and struggled as the man pulled him back. But only for an instant. The man pulled out a shotgun and blew the handle off the door. The stranger wouldn't let Dean race in first, but stormed in, raised hand holding an antique colt gun.

* * *

"What?" This thing sounded as if it knew him. It couldn't, there was no way. He couldn't hear Dean screaming or pounding.

"You have no idea, do you?" Its voice was raspy, old, but powerful beyond belief. Still on his knees, Sam shuddered. It laughed, a terrible, cackling sound that fitted a Disney witch on television. Only this was much scarier.

"Oh, you're useless now anyway. Tainted."

Sam screamed as he flew back against the wall, an invisible force pinning him down. He screamed again, only partially in agony, as he slid up the wall.

"You had such potential, as well. It doesn't matter. Two powers died tonight. Maybe two should go with them."

The agony hit him. It felt like his stomach was tearing apart. A part of Sam felt like he deserved it. He hadn't saved Sarah. Beautiful Sarah, the light of Dean's life. And he had failed his nieces. He could see their ashes now, from his impossible vantage point, scattered across the ruined cribs. He let out a sob.

"Yes, you realize you're dying. No Mary to save you now. Look, your blood begins to spill."

He did look, down at his stomach as he sobbed with the pain. It was tearing apart. He screamed, hitting his head against the wall in an attempt to stop the pain. He felt his skin split, and he screamed, feeling blood gather in the wide wound of his abdomen. This was impossible. Impossible. And yet, impossibly, his blood began dripping from his split stomach.

He didn't hear the door crash open. He didn't hear the shot the stranger aimed at the demon a second too late. He didn't hear the demon disappear, or the room burst into flames.

He fell to the floor and shaking hands pulled him out, carried him out of the burning house. Those same hands held him tight, held tight the last remnants of a desiccated Winchester family where it knelt on the grass. The pain was no longer as bad, but Sam knew he was dying. He coughed, bringing up blood. He looked up into the eyes of his big brother.

* * *

When Sam looked up at him, Dean let out a terrible sob.

"Oh, God, Sam, no, no, no! Why did you do that?" He couldn't stop the tears. His little brother lay dying in his arms, coughing, and looking guilty beyond belief.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I couldn't save them. I didn't want you to be alone. I wanted to be a good uncle, and I failed."

"NO!" Dean cried emphatically. "No, you were great. You're… you wanted to save them so badly. Oh, god, Mary, Jess. Sarah! Please." He didn't realize how hard he was gripping Sam in his arms, squeezing his brother until the younger couldn't breath properly. But he couldn't… "Please, don't leave me. You can't leave me. You can't!"

Sam closed his eyes, but didn't mention his dream. He wanted Dean to remember him as this worthy brother. It was selfish, but in his last moments he felt he deserved a selfish one. Then his eyes popped open.

"Dean?" His little brother sounded so anguished. "I did come."

"What?"

"Your wedding. I came and watched. From a distance. It was great. Dad would've been proud."

Dean let out another sob. He should have known. Of course Sammy would never miss it. "Sarah," he sobbed painfully, a pain that struck Sam as well, because he hadn't stopped it…

"Dean. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did so bad. You were so great and…" he trailed off into a fit of coughs. When they had subsided Dean took up the conversation.

"I'm so sorry Sammy-." He didn't get any further.

"Don't! You did great. I fucked up. I choose my own life. But know that I always loved you." He began coughing again and Dean felt sobs wrack his body. This couldn't be happening. Not all of them, they couldn't leave him alone. Not all at once. "Please!" He wasn't sure who he was pleading to.

"Sammy, don't go. We were just getting started. There's so much… Please, Sammy…"

"It's all… right. You'll… find some… one… Tanya…" Suddenly Sam smiled peacefully, as he accepted his last vision. "You will… be happy… just…" He couldn't speak anymore, as more coughs took his last breath and last wish.

"Please," Dean begged, looking up. "Please, don't take them all. Please, oh God, give me back them. Oh, Mary and Jess, please come back! Sarah… Sam! Sammy!"

It was too late. Sam was gone, or Sammy… whoever. The soul had left and the body had remained behind to cool in Dean's arms.

"NO!" he screamed. "Not now, not like this. PLEASE! Give them back!"

He broke down, sobbing and telling no one that this wasn't fair, Sam, Sarah, Mary, Jess, they couldn't all leave at once. The void was there, gaping, and he was so alone. He didn't want to be alone. He wasn't Sam, he wasn't strong enough to hold it together. They couldn't all leave him, the last Winchester. They couldn't leave him, his beautiful little girls. This wasn't fair, it wasn't. He couldn't lose them all. He would… was losing himself. "Not all at once," he whispered over and over again into Sammy's hair.

It seemed like hours later that a hand touched his shoulder. Dean jumped up, still weeping, just silently. The stranger, the one who had tried to kill the figure, was looking down on him, deepest sympathy and pity in his kind but hard eyes.

"I can help," the stranger told him. And Dean believed him.


	7. Epilogue

**Author's Note:**So, this is it. Hope everyone enjoyed it, and thanks for reading. The follow-on to Good Samaritan should be up soon, just needs a few touch-ups. Umm…I think that's all my news. Oh, yeah, I posted it all at once, because originally it was going to be one chapter anyway. And, I felt you all deserved it, after all my awesome reviews for my other stories.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Dean buried his family together. Already his mum, and his dad lay there, side by side, in death as they had been in life twenty-three years ago. He buried Sam next to Mary, because Pastor Jim Murphy, the stranger who took him in, told him Mary had died for Sam. And Dean believed him.

Leaving the plot next to his dad for him, Sarah was laid to rest near his future. They buried Mary and Jess with her.

And Dean left. He went with the Pastor, a thirst for revenge driving him like nothing had driven another human being ever. He was a storm before the supernatural beings he hunted. And Sam's final wish went unfulfilled.

He was still alone, at least for a time. Sure, he had Pastor Jim, but the man didn't really count. He was a teacher, a hunter, first and only, when he wasn't deep in his religious teachings. So Dean was left to himself, to his thoughts, except when he hunted. Only then did he feel any semblance of calm, or anything close to happiness. He wasn't bitter that they had all left him alone, just lonely, more lonely than he had ever been before. He wondered if this was what Sam had felt when he had been alive.

When Pastor Jim was finally caught by the hunted it didn't hit so hard. It was three years later, just three, but already Dean was a pro. He went out and did it himself, and he was even better, because he had _no_ other distractions to keep his mind from the loneliness.

Seven years later he finally caught up to the demon who had taken his family from him and left him alone. When he had used the last bullet of the special colt, when he had finally watched that bastard writher into nothingness, he sat down and cried, because now he had nothing.

He settled back into society, no easy task after so long being solo, being alone, with just the hunt and the vengeance battling the loneliness and the desire to have died along with the rest of his family.

He married again, a year after he killed the demon. To a young girl, ten years his junior, named Tanya. He always remembered Sammy mentioning a Tanya with his dying breath, and wondered. Had Sam known? He knew, more than anyone, that it was possible.

She wasn't his true love, which she knew, but he did love her, with most of his heart. Though she already had one child, which he adopted, he never felt more joy than when their first child together came along. A boy, beautiful, and strong. Dean called him Sam, and vowed to never fail him. And finally, nine years after he had been left with only loneliness and the hunt, he wasn't so alone. The little boy, his little Sammy, began to fill the void that not even the love of a wonderful woman could fill.

He didn't stop hunting altogether. He taught his children, all four of them, everything Pastor Jim had taught him. And he made sure they would teach their children, and they promised they would tell their children to teach their children. And so Dean was content that no one would ever need to know the loneliness and desolation he had experienced.

He finally died. At the wonderful age of ninety-three, surrounded by loved ones, and his huge family, the Winchester family, which he had created all by himself. He told them all of his brother, and his father as he drew his last breaths. He told them that he loved them, words he never left out. And then he finally joined his family, his little brother Sammy, Sarah, his beautiful girls, his mum, and his dad. And finally, the void was filled.

Just a little something to end it with. I hope you liked it, and thanks for sticking with it.


End file.
